


Fixated Gravities

by MenagerieTragedies



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Aliens, Alternate Universe - Human, Astronauts, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Forced Exhibitionism, Forced Relationship, Human Experimentation, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, Molestation, Slavery
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-23
Updated: 2021-01-23
Packaged: 2021-03-15 03:15:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,929
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28931607
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MenagerieTragedies/pseuds/MenagerieTragedies
Summary: Drifting through space on a malfunctioning ship, the moment arises where two astronauts must decide between two fates: die a horrible death in space or grovel to the whims of their captors.
Relationships: America/Russia (Hetalia)
Comments: 5
Kudos: 28





	Fixated Gravities

**Author's Note:**

> Earth orbit departure date: 20xx AD  
> Destination Planet Mars: Milky Way Galaxy  
> Ship: ISS Frontier  
> Crew status: 2 members, active  
> Goal: survey planet Mars  
> Orbit ETA: five months, thirteen days, ten hours

A flight engineer and his monitor. It carried the same meaning as a potter molding clay on a pottery wheel or a painter making strokes upon a canvas. All were works of passion that craved passionate people to bring them to their greater purpose and Alfred took great pride in fixing broken things, but spending hours of his day staring into the same damn monitor, waiting for alerts to pop up, was not what he had in mind when he was granted this prestigious position. Not even the airforce had him idle this long. The radio used to always crackle to life whenever the clock's arm reached the next minute.

Maybe the time on Earth moved faster than the time in space.

He eventually resorted to looking out the cabin window. The view made the job all worth it despite the small set backs.

Beyond his physical being, beyond the glass, was currently infinite space. Five red, seven yellow, and eight green lights reflected from the monitor and onto the cabin window. They could have been mistaken as stars if he didn't see his own tired face staring back alongside them with the same translucent sheen. 

That reflection was proof that space had a way of altering people. He knew change was inevitable, but what was most stunning was how quickly those changes came. In only a two month span, there was no denying the decline in muscle mass despite being scheduled to exercise twice daily. His infamous tanned skin had already warped into a far paler shade, almost nearing his brother’s ghostly hue.

He hardly recognized himself, but maybe that wasn’t such a bad thing. All he hoped was that Mattie didn’t get the urge to bully his new paleness to avenge years of teasing.

...But in his defense, his brother did reflect enough light to put a lighthouse out of business.

_'You will see. Being in space makes you younger! Especially when you have an American coworker.' Alfred didn't register the words properly, failing to give a reply to the man seated beside him. He had been taking in his final moments on earth, staring with a dopey grin at the blue atmosphere above them. His heart had already aligned itself to beat with the numbers on the countdown. 'It is joke, of course. You need a better sense of humor.'_

The excitement and nausea felt after take-off had lasted for weeks. With the adrenaline wearing off and his body becoming more adjusted to his new surroundings, Alfred couldn't help but glare at the twenty buttons blinking on the flight computer monitor. He could feel the heavy weight of his eyelids attempting to shut after a full day of work, but he couldn't help but to internally plead for something to make his final hours before strapping himself into a sleeping bag exciting. 

The Commander's weighted sigh sent Alfred lurching from his internalized self-pity, straining against the bindings that kept him attached to his seat in momentary alarm. It was a feat within itself to sneak up on someone in a shuttle that's barely as wide as their arm span. Everything was so intimate in such a small area, making it impossible to perform even the most mundane daily function without alerting the other.

Braginsky guided his body through microgravity with the precision and accuracy expected of an experienced Commander, gently pushing himself off the nearest wall with the soles of his feet to grab onto the seat next to Alfred's. The Russian flag on Braginsky's arm warped into an abstract shape as he tightened the belt around his waist and rooted himself to his designated position at the control board just as Alfred had done an hour before him.

“Are you bored? I am not even sure how that is possible." Braginsky flicked his violet iris’ over to Alfred's bouncing leg, making Alfred strain against the lack of gravity to halt the movement entirely. "We are on a tight schedule, Jones. Last I checked, you needed explicit permission from Mission Control to even add an extra ass wipe to our routine.” 

Alfred released a thunderous cackle, the cords in the back of his throat stinging in retaliation to the abrupt force. "Houston and I would have gotten away with it too if it wasn't for Moscow's meddling!" 

The edges of Braginsky's lip twitched upwards, attempting to mask his own amusement with a poorly restrained chuckle. 

He and Braginsky. They've settled into a comfortable routine. Two months ago they had nearly sent each other to an extended stay in medbay over a disagreement about pens and pencils, now they were doing somersaults in space and giggling like schoolgirls. 

Their relationship was something that constantly baffled Mission Control and he couldn't blame them. It confused the shit out of him too.

"Have you completed your standard maintenance procedures for the day?" Braginsky’s gloved hands hovered over a keyboard, always ready to begin his work.

The conversation before was a standard social courtesy provided by the Commander. Braginsky’s work wasn’t to provide small talk, it was to navigate, interrogate, and record. Ensuring the overall mission success and the safety of crew and spacecraft was his assigned task and by God did this man take it seriously. Houston had warned him that anyone working with Braginsky usually learned that the hard way.

"Yeah, nothing needs any fixin'. No dents, no scratches. There's not even a single bolt in need of tightening.” Alfred crossed his arms, turning away to stare back into the window. “Nada, nothin'. It's bullshit!"

"You're disappointed that our little shuttle is in perfect condition? You are going to jinx our good luck… and I do not have any wood to knock it away with." Alfred watched Braginsky’s reflection shoot a look of disappointment from behind him. Yahknow, the one with the frown and furrowed bushy eyebrows. It's jarring to look at, especially when all you see is this guy smiling like a lunatic 24/7. But that type of reaction was expected from Braginsky. Afterall, this was the same guy who delayed take-off because his sisters hadn’t placed two coins on the capsule track. The guy was superstitious, but even that sounds like an understatement. It’d be like calling the sun just a star or space only an eternity, there’s more to it than that and this guy’s questionable sanity can be grouped up with them.

Alfred will give Braginsky credit where credit is due. He's never witnessed someone give the entirety of Mission Control a migraine as intense as Braginsky has. 

"Goddammit, I know how stupid it sounds, Braginsky. I just want to be able to do my damn job, I haven’t heard from Ground Control once today!"

Braginsky’s breath hitching was heard, but ignored in favor of a rhythmic beeping on the monitor before Alfred’s lap. Upon looking down, a bright red light obscured the main engine portion of the shuttle map and shined onto Alfred's large grin.

Speaking of the devil!

“Duty calls!” The buckles on Alfred’s chair quickly came undone. His arms contorted and stretched backwards, desperately patting the air until his hands brushed over his Snoopy cap and helmet. The task of latching them carefully onto the airtight locks of his suit became more difficult, his hands shaking with his growing excitement. 

A strong push from his seat and he was sent propelling towards the airlock door, his hand gripping the handle and holding him in place. Alfred offers one glance back at the chairs and frowns at the only thing that could possibly slow him down from his task. “Hurry up, Braginsky! What’s with you right now? Do you want us to lose an engine?!”

Lips pressed into a thin line, Ivan hesitates before mimicking his movement, placing the black cap over his silvery head. One button is tapped and a light static enters their ears, signaling to Alfred that their communication is on and that Braginsky wasn't planning on ditching him in space with no one to talk to. Which was useful.

Alfred straps on his boots and undoes the seal to the door before slamming it shut behind him. A soft hiss resounded throughout the room as the air pressure adjusted, matching perfectly to the tune of the humming machinery around him. A rope was tightly wrapped around his waist and a toolbox that carried all the necessary equipment usually needed for engine check-ups was attached to his belt.

**_“This is Major Jones to Commander Braginsky, I am now preparing to open the outer airlock.”_ **

**_“Understood, all engines have been shut down. You are permitted to exit the shuttle off-schedule due to extraordinary circumstances”_** The voice crackled back.

The outer door had more resistance to being opened than the entry door. Alfred strained to turn it open before a burst of pressure accumulated around his form and helped to carry him out into the open abyss.

Behind him was the ISS Frontier, the first ship sent out to properly put boots on Martian soil and what a pretty sight she was! The shuttle was cylindrical in shape, 5.61 meters long and 3.0 meters wide. Forward in the nose of the ship was the bridge, where he had been previously. At the rear of the ship were the engines, where he needed to be.

If Alfred didn't do his job properly and one of the five engines were to fail, the ship would take even longer to reach its goal, possibly adding months to their schedule. And what would the news say about that failure after they've arrived back to Earth? That he wasn't a complete badass like he said he was and give Braginsky all the glory!?!? He would be damned if he let that happen! 

With gentle bursts, Alfred utilized his air pack to gently send him to the back of the ship. As he caught sight of the group of engines on the outside of the orbiter, he wrapped his gloved fingers along its edges to halt his movements. 

Moving around in space was a lot like swimming in the middle of a big, weighted ocean. It requires great strength and momentum to move to the desired location, and an even greater ability to remain in one spot.

A mental checklist ran through his mind and over each engine, not noting anything too prominent. Over a course of gymnastics, Alfred could deduct that all the screws were in place, no fluids were floating out into space, and all cables seemed to be in their proper position. The problem was the worst-case scenario, _internal,_ and would require hours of unassembling, fixing, and reassembling.

The universe answered to Alfred’s boredom in the form of a middle finger.

The earpiece beeped, interrupting the engine crisis by filling Alfred's helmet with unsteady breathing. It took a moment longer before the Commander was even able to get words out. Time moved more slowly in space. _“_ **_Alfred, report back to the airlock immediately_ ** _”_

His first name ricocheted through his helmet, a forbidden informality when placed on-duty. It could be nothing, he attempted to assure himself, maybe it was Braginsky's way of trying to befriend him further. 

That didn’t stop the bile burning at the back of his throat as he clicked onto his radio. 

“ ** _One of our engines won't ignite and requires my full attention, are you certain I am needed at this e_** **xact moment?** ** _”_ ** There was only silence. His body flushed at the lack of response. **_“Commander Braginsky, this is Major Jones requesting feedback? Commander?”_ **

_Something was horribly wrong._

**Author's Note:**

> Writing this fanfiction as my first smut will hopefully be like ripping off a band-aid, I need to be quick in pulling it off so that I get over it quicker. Maybe then I'll be able to write it more freely without being too embarrassed! 
> 
> (Kudos and comments on the story are greatly appreciated!)


End file.
